A Greater Good
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #59 Spock, T'Naisa, and James have returned to Vulcan for a time, and now Simon is also arriving. Why has he left the Julliard School of Music? It seems that Spock's talented son wants to take his life in a new direction, but serious obstacles await him.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Spock gazed into the distance as Eridani slipped below the sand-swept Vulcan horizon. Activity could be heard from the Baruk dining hall, and the evening breeze carried a scent of food. Dinner soon, but Spock's mind was elsewhere. Alone, he walked down the temple steps and followed a path that led away from the main grounds, to the gnarled orchard trees he had climbed as a young boy. He sat down on a bench that offered a view of the school entrance. T'Naisa had taken James with her into town where she was picking up Simon from the travel depot, and they would be returning momentarily.

It was not far from this very spot that Spock had been abducted with Simon when the boy was only twelve. Those early days had been particularly dangerous for followers of Yanash, but the past seven years had held their own share of difficulties. There was an inevitable backlash from the vrekatras' destruction at Gol, and even Spock's association with Earth's Vatican was looked upon with suspicion. Yanashites were called "subversives" by high-ranking government officials, harassed and persecuted in many small ways. And just last year, Vulcan's High Council attempted to redefine a Vulcan citizen as "one loyal to the code of Surak and no other". Those who refused to sign such an oath would have been stripped of citizenship and sent into exile.

The Yanashites lobbied hard against such a decree. Clearly, it had never been Surak's intent to define Vulcan by a philosophy. Vulcan citizenship was a birthright that must be honored in spite of differing beliefs, as long as those beliefs did not lead to criminal actions. In a legal argument they asked, "Do we harm others or their property? Do we take what does not belong to us? Do we perjure ourselves? No, nor do Yanashites condone such behavior. We wish only to honor the Shiav and live in peace among our neighbors."

Under intense pressure from the Federation, Vulcan's High Council had dropped the citizenship issue. Despite every difficulty, the Community continued to grow and prosper. And now, since Sorel had approved plans for the Plum Creek Sanctuary, there would soon be a Yanashite retreat house under Spock's management in the mountains of Earth. In a matter of months he would be back in Idaho to oversee its construction. It did not seem logical for Simon to abruptly leave Juilliard, set aside his musical education, and journey here when Spock would soon be leaving.

He heard the distant hum of a groundcar and in a matter of moments it glided through the entrance with T'Naisa at the controls. Steeling himself, he rose and walked toward the roadway. T'Naisa noticed him and grounded the car long enough for Simon to get out. The dark-haired fellow who approached Spock was a bit taller than his father and not quite as lean. At nineteen, Simon looked very much like a man. But as they drew closer, Spock discovered a sheepish, childlike look in his son's eyes.

"Hello Father," Simon began. He hesitated, then enclosed Spock in a clumsy hug as he said, "I hope you're not too upset with me."

Spock returned the embrace, then they drew apart and studied one another. Though Spock was less than pleased, unlike his own father, he would allow Simon to choose his own path and learn from the journey. "I am somewhat…surprised," he acknowledged. "There is no school of music here comparable to Juilliard. What compelled you to leave?"

A chime sounded from the dining hall. Simon's head turned toward it, but not before Spock saw pain flicker in his blue eyes. Spock's question remained unanswered. As they walked toward the hall, Simon changed the subject to Baruk.

oooo

Later that week, Spock left James in the care of Father Taguma and went with T'Naisa to Mount Seleya for the Holy Days. Simon chose to accompany them. It was a difficult time of year for Spock, difficult for any believer who had seen Yanash put to death or had actually participated in the savage killing. The first day dawned with a cool breeze that would soon give way to heat. All over Vulcan, the Traditionalists were preparing celebrations in honor of Surak, but on Seleya there would be strict fasting and recollection.

As on that other terrible Day, a gong sounded, but not in celebration. The bitter sound struck deep in Spock's soul as he joined the great procession of those multitudes that had journeyed here to mourn. Sorel led the way. As anointed leader of the Yanashites, he carried the sledgehammer and spikes used to impale the Shiav. Slowly they walked the narrow, winding path toward the ledge where Yanash had suffered a slow, terrible death. Mist began to swirl around them and there was a sound of gushing water. Though the day had already turned hot, Spock shivered.

They arrived at the site. One by one, the priests, staff, and pilgrims stepped up to the geyser-torn rock and paid homage in their own way. Simon took a turn. Then Spock watched T'Naisa sink to the ground, weeping. Soaked to the skin, he moved in by her side, remembering Yanash lying there, mutilated beyond recognition, dying in full view yet utterly alone. Overcome with remorse, he dropped to his knees and offered the only thing he had to give: himself.

Afterward they returned to their respective chambers and changed into dry clothes for a penitential rite at the temple. Following a brief ceremony of preparation, the priests took their seats and offered the Forgiving Touch to any Yanashite who desired it. Each year there were more who came. All day the penitents approached, their faces damp from the fountain and sometimes their own tears. Far into the night, the temple remained a center of prayer and meditation.

It was nearly three in the morning before Spock headed back to his room, ready for a few precious hours of rest before daybreak. Inside, a light was shining. Simon sprang from his cot, smiling, his eyes aglow with youthful exuberance.

"Father! I thought you'd never get here! We have to talk. I want to tell you why I came to Vulcan."

Spock could not quite squelch the irritated twitch of an eyebrow. _Talk now?_ These were the most solemn hours of the Community's year, a time set aside for silent reflection. As a Yanashite, Simon knew that. Yet, out of all the times he could have spoken up, he expected to talk _now_ …at his own convenience.

Simon's smile began to fade. And suddenly Spock was reminded of other occasions when he had failed to show his son patience, failed to listen, only to regret it later. Today of all days he should do his best to offer Simon a father's understanding.

Spock sat and gave Simon his full attention. "So," he said in as warm and pleasant a tone as Yanash would have used, as if there was nothing in all of Vulcan that he would rather be doing, "tell me what is on your mind."

Simon heaved a sigh of relief. For a terrible moment it had seemed to him that his father was annoyed and would put him off with some sharp word until morning. Simon felt like he would burst if he had to wait even that long.

In an apologetic tone he said, "I know it's awfully late…"

"I am Vulcan," Father said in the old way, as if even a young full-blooded Vulcan was immune to fatigue.

But Spock was neither young nor full-blooded. Though to a human he might seem forty, he would soon be eighty, with decades of experience that made Simon pace nervously and wonder how his revelation would be received. Spock always had an answer for everything. Would it be the answer Simon was hoping to hear?

Simon was used to expressing himself through music, not words. How should he begin? How could he describe the deep, mystical yearning that had been building up inside him for years?

Utterly frustrated, he came to a stop and said, "I don't know how to make you understand what I'm feeling. I know what you're going to think when I tell you—that it's too sudden, but it's not really sudden at all."

"You cannot possibly know what I am going to think," Father objected in his most logical manner. "Even I cannot know until you reveal what it is that you want me to understand."

Simon sighed again. "I know. I just want you to realize what I've been thinking about this since I was the same age as Jamie—thirteen. And today, at the ledge…and at the temple when I watched the priests…" His voice trailed off. He stood gazing at his father, the finest thoughts of all locked hopelessly inside him, for he could not say them without causing pain. _There was a time when I was ashamed of your religious faith. I didn't understand your humility. I thought of it as a weakness. I didn't know that it took a real man, a great man, to go down on his knees before God. But I know different now. I've known different for a long time. I want to grow into that kind of man…_

Aloud he said, "Father, I want to devote my life to the Shiav. I want to become a priest."

Father's left eyebrow rose sharply. He settled his body into a new position. Finally he said, "One can devote his life to the Shiav without becoming a priest."

Simon's heart sank. "I know that. But don't you understand? I want to be a priest."

"I am attempting to understand," Father replied, "but you have told me very little."

Simon had hoped this would be easy. He had pictured his father reacting with gladness and offering his full support. That was how it had been when Simon decided to become a Yanashite. Why was this so different?

Once more Simon struggled to express himself, then gave up. Lifting his hands in defeat, he walked out the door.

Spock rose and almost went after his son, but perhaps it was best that they have time alone to think.

So Simon wanted to be priest. It was a stunning admission. Spock had always encouraged the boy to pursue his love of music. Yanash would be well served in that way. It had been difficult enough convincing Sorel and the other members of the Council to admit Simon into the Yanashite Community, but Spock doubted they would ever confer the priesthood on a one-quarter Vulcan. He could have told Simon so immediately, but if the boy's dream must be destroyed, Spock did not want to be the one to do it. Simon had already suffered enough loss.

Shortly before dawn Simon returned to their room and lay down, fully clothed, on his cot.

Spock had not slept at all. In the darkness he turned his face toward Simon and asked, "Are you alright?"

A pause. Then, "I'm sorry I walked out on you. It's just that this means so damn much to me. I thought you would understand."

"I think I do understand," Spock assured him.

"You do?" The voice was hopeful. "Then you'll help me?"

Now it was Spock's turn to hesitate. "I…will do what I can," he promised, knowing that it would amount to very little.

oooo

Shortly after dawn, Spock approached Sorel and asked if Simon might be granted the privilege of carrying Yanash's burial cloth to the temple for the Day of Veneration. Spock knew that the honor would cheer his son while also serving to remind the leader how Yanash had once used that same blanket in a miracle that led to Simon's conversion.

Sorel gave his permission.

It was a simple ceremony. Priests and pilgrims gathered in the courtyard while Sorel took Simon to the hidden repository and removed the cloth from its locked receptacle. There, Simon received the blanket in which the Shiav's bones had been carelessly wrapped by old T'Lar's Seleyan priests. With Sorel in the lead carrying a fragrant censor, they came out chanting, crossed the land bridge, and entered the temple. Simon draped the sacred blanket over the altar, where it would remain exposed throughout the day for the faithful to venerate.

Spock looked upon his son and found himself wondering. Might it be, after all? Might the same God of miracles who once covered a shivering boy with this very blanket, now also favor him with the cloak of priesthood?

The following morning a small tremor awoke Spock and his son—a minor aftershock compared to that first Resurrection morning, yet it felt as if Yanash Himself had set foot on Mount Seleya again.

Simon could barely contain his excitement. As they dressed he said, "It's a sign. This is the day. I'm going to talk to Sorel. Will you go with me?"

Spock stopped what he was doing and turned to his son. Simon had not once complained about the prolonged period of fasting. He was clearly committed to his faith, but the priesthood was another matter. He was sure to meet opposition and there was no use in delaying it.

"Very well," Spock agreed. "This afternoon."

Simon smiled broadly, took up his violin case, and went out the door.

Spock closed his eyes and made a silent appeal to the Shiav. Then he, too, headed out into the courtyard. Some young children who had traveled from Baruk School recognized him and rushed up, smiling. At times Spock envied their emotional freedom. Yanashite discipline involved only the mental training necessary for touch telepaths. It did not restrict the good and reasonable display of emotions; rather, it encouraged their appropriate use. Yanashite children of ten and under sometimes even broke into laughter.

Spock slowly made his way across the land bridge and entered the crowded temple. A scent of incense mingled with that of the many flowers brought in for the celebration. Though he caught sight of T'Naisa, he did not join her. Their civil marriage was now common knowledge, due to the publicity surrounding James' custody hearing on Earth. The Community accepted their unorthodox relationship, but Spock was very careful to conduct himself in such a way as to avoid scandal.

From the back of the temple, a pure note rose from Simon's violin, then melded with traditional Vulcan instruments in one of his most beautiful compositions. Every priest present filed up to the front where a large rectangular meditation stone served as an altar beneath the icon-portrait of Yanash. The traditional slab of polished granite had been bored with four holes in remembrance of the spikes that had impaled the Shiav. The idea for the altar had come to Sorel, an inspired connection between the old ways and the new. Spock hoped to secure such a stone for the temple planned at his Plum Creek property in Idaho.

Spock turned his attention to the sacred ritual that was about to begin. Midway through the Kuru, the healer T'Mira came forward and gave her eyewitness account of the day Yanash rose from his tomb. She had been the first to see him. Tears ran unchecked down her face as she described the Master's kindness toward her—she whose injection had made him as vulnerable as a human to T'Lar's torture.

Sorel then went to the podium and began to speak on the significance of the Shiav's death and resurrection. He had barely started when a distant, all-too-familiar drone grew into a roar that shook the temple to its foundation. Spock tensed as the aircraft circled the mountain in "practice maneuvers". This sort of harassment by the government had become commonplace.

Young children covered their ears and began to cry. Sorel raised his arms in a silent appeal for calm. Despite the din, the ritual proceeded. Back at the altar, Sorel pronounced the sacred words of consecration, and lines formed to receive the Living Water.

After the service, Spock and Simon headed for the staff dining room set deep in the mountain. With a sense of relief, they sat near T'Naisa and Sparn at one of the long tables laden with food. Here, a thick layer of rock muffled the unrelenting noise outside. They could break their long fast in peace. But Simon soon made it plain that he was not in a peaceable mood.

Leaning forward, he spoke in a low but heated tone. "How can everyone just sit here? Those stupid people spoiled everything!"

T'Naisa and Sparn just looked at him and continued eating.

Spock swallowed a bite of food. Then he said, "Their foolish behavior could not keep Yanash away. He came to us in the Living Water. No harm was done."

"But the music…"

"Ah." Spock nodded. "Could that be what is really bothering you? The noise prevented you from playing all of your music."

Simon's handsome face reddened. He toyed with his food. "Well…I suppose," he admitted in a subdued voice, "but it's more than that. It's disrespectful, it's…intolerant. I thought things were different now on Vulcan. I thought the situation was getting better."

"Better?" Spock mused. "Yes, to some degree…but you must understand. There are some things I have not told you and your sister T'Beth. It would only have worried you to know how inhospitable a climate we still live in. The government repeatedly examines our financial records and even our personal behavior for any hint of a misstep. Business owners cannot secure loans. Homes and vehicles get vandalized. Outside our community, we are frequently denied service. In person, most adult Vulcans merely shun us, but their children are not as subtle. When no one is looking, the children sometimes spit on our clothes or hurl stones."

Simon gaped in disbelief. "Vulcans do that?"

"Vulcans," T'Naisa confirmed.

Spock said, "You need to know what to expect, but as for your sister…"

Simon nodded dazedly. "I won't say anything." He finished his meal in silence and walked out of the dining hall.

Watching him leave, Spock wondered if the harsh reality of ongoing persecution would turn Simon away from his dream of the priesthood. Simon knew what it was like to be in danger. At twelve, he was left in a desert to die by those who opposed Yanashite beliefs. Spock would not fault him now if he turned around and went back to Earth. He found himself hoping that Simon would.

Later in the day Spock went to Seleya's learning center, sat before a screen, and ordered up an astrophysics journal. He had scarcely begun reading when someone walked up behind him. Even without looking, he knew it was his son.

"I'm going," Simon said at his back, and for one hopeful moment Spock thought the boy truly had changed his mind and was heading to Earth.

Then Spock turned and saw the determined set of Simon's jaw, and there was no mistaking the young man's intent.

"Sorel is in his office," Simon informed him. "I sent word ahead and he's expecting me."

Wordlessly Spock rose and went with him.

Sorel personally ushered them into his modest office, and they all sat down.

After the initial greetings, Sorel turned kindly eyes upon Simon and asked in Standard, "How then can I help you?"

Simon leaned forward intently and Spock held his breath, waiting.

Then Simon answered in Vulcan, "I want to become a Yanashite priest."

Sorel's left eyebrow gave a slight upward quirk. He looked at Spock, the briefest glance of displeasure, before refocussing his polite attention on Simon. Sorel began by reminding him, as delicately as possible, of what he already knew.

"Simon, that is a laudable ambition, but you are not fully Vulcan. You are not even half Vulcan like your father." And he added, "This fact has not prevented your being a good Yanashite, but the priesthood is quite another matter. A Yanashite priest must possess telepathic skills. Even if you had such a skill, the fact remains that you appear human. Would Vulcans accept a human as their priest?"

Simon went stiff and reverted to Standard. "I can't help looking human, but there's a Vulcan part of me, too. My telepathic scores are nearly as high as my father's. All I need is more training."

"That may be so," conceded Sorel in the same language, "but there is something that no amount of training can change. Tell me. Do you think like a Vulcan or like a human?"

"I think like a Yanashite," Simon declared with a mental alacrity that made Spock proud.

Sorel rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and brought his fingertips together. Once more his eyes found Spock and cooled perceptively. "Spock, I will ask you to step outside so I can speak privately with your son. Then I will have words with you."

Simon watched his father retreat into the hall. He could tell that Sorel was getting angry, and felt that it was unjustly centered on Spock.

The door closed.

Simon turned in his seat and boldly faced down the leader of the Yanashites. "Get mad at me, not him. This wasn't his idea. He only came because I asked him."

Sorel's expression softened. "It is obvious that you are quite close to your father. But what do you have in common with these others? Vulcan culture is unlike that of Earth."

Simon worked to calm himself. "In my stays on Vulcan, I've found peace here. I've grown to love these people like brothers and sisters. You ask me what we have in common. A need for the Shiav."

A hint of a smile stirred Sorel's lips and he nodded. Without a word he rose and beckoned to Simon. Hopefully Simon went forward and Sorel touched his head in the Yanashite blessing.

Gazing into his eyes, Sorel said, "You are very young. Since God has blessed you with great musical talent, it is only logical that you channel your energy there."

Simon's heart plummeted. "But I can do both!"

There was a moment of silence.

Very firmly Sorel said, "There will be no further discussion." His right hand moved in a curt gesture of dismissal.

Simon's throat ached. He felt tears welling in his eyes. Turning, he hurried out the door and turned his face aside so his father would not see the agony of his disappointment.

Spock did not need to see his son's face to conclude what had happened. In the wake of Simon's abrupt departure, he waited in a chair by the door, knowing that the full force of Sorel's censure what about to descend upon him. It would not be their first clash, and perhaps in this case Spock was not entirely innocent, but even so he felt justified in preparing an argument.

Precisely ten minutes passed before Sorel opened the office door and summoned him inside. They both remained on their feet. Sorel was slightly built, but the flame in his eyes gave him a formidable appearance.

"Spock, there was no need for this to happen. You could easily have prevented it."

Spock released a pent sigh. "So you have turned him away."

"You are his father!" Sorel snapped. "You should have dissuaded him from this absurd notion."

"Absurd?" The word grated on Spock's ears. "I beg your pardon, but I do not consider any desire to serve the Shiav absurd."

"Surely you realize that no Vulcan would accept Simon as a priest."

Spock considered. "He is well-liked by the children, and children grow into adults."

Sorel's temper was clearly on the rise. "Enough! Stop troubling me about this matter. You will return to Baruk immediately and take your son along."

With an effort Spock inclined his head respectfully. "I will do as you wish, sir, but my son is a grown man. I cannot order him to accompany me."

"Then you will exercise your powers of persuasion," Sorel finished.

oooo

Spock entered their chamber and found Simon slumped dejectedly on his cot.

Simon's jaw worked with anger. His gaze remained fixed on the floor as he declared, "Sorel would say 'yes' in a minute if I looked like Jamie."

"In that case, Sorel might well give your request more consideration," Spock agreed, "but while your brother James outwardly appears Vulcan, he lacks your telepathic ability."

Simon's head came up. The anguish in his eyes made them appear almost violet. "Father, what am I going to do? I can't just give up!"

Spock pondered for a moment. Here was an opportunity to gently dissuade him from so unrealistic a goal, but some inner urging stopped him. "Simon," he said, "in your conversation with Sorel, did he specifically forbid you to train for the priesthood?"

Simon frowned. "No…come to think of it, he didn't."

Spock nodded. "So I suspected. Contrary to what some people believe, Sorel does not directly oversee every aspect of the Community. A Vocations Committee screens applicants for the priesthood. Any priest can recommend a candidate or advise against him, as long as the priest presents a logical argument. That rule applies for Sorel, as well as our newest priests. But," he added, "in view of Sorel's influence, I advise you to try and win him over. Those candidates who receive even a single negative vote from the committee are denied another hearing for a year."

Simon rose, his face aglow with fresh hope. "Then there's still a chance."

Spock reached for his valise and began packing his few belongings.

"What are you doing?" Simon asked.

"I am returning to Baruk," Spock replied. "I suggest that you accompany me there and pray for further guidance. Meanwhile, if you so wish, I can work at refining your telepathic ability."

Simon stared at him. "But the Holy Days aren't over! Sorel is sending you away, isn't he? Because of me!"

Spock snapped his valise shut and looked at him. "Simon, have you noticed those blood-green capes that the priests have begun to wear?"

"Of course."

"The people wanted some way to identify their clergy. On the cape's front, the fourfold arrangement of rods signify the manner of the Shiav's sacrificial death. It has become known as the Yanashite Cross. Outside the Community, that emblem invites persecution, but priests wear it without complaint. If you look closely, you will discover that all the fine white trim is actually sewn in the form of a chain—the symbol of the basest form of servitude—that of a slave." Coming to his point, he said, "Simon, to be a priest is to serve. Among other things, it involves submitting yourself to the decisions of your superiors. That does not mean that you cannot speak your mind, but ultimately there must be obedience. Do you understand?"

Simon gave a silent nod. As he was gathering up his things, Spock found T'Naisa in the women's section and explained his abrupt departure.

"Of course," he told her, "you are free to remain here."

"I wouldn't consider it," she said firmly. "Poor Simon. I think he'd make a good priest."

The three of them left Mount Seleya together.

oooo

At Baruk, Simon was assigned the pleasant task of educating the young students in classical Earth music. Before long, an idea came to him. With his father's permission, he asked the children to participate in something even more foreign to Vulcan culture. A choir.

He enlisted his brother's help and at first Simon and James did most of the singing, but they made it seem so enjoyable that eventually even the most reticent youngsters joined in. By that time, Simon had written Vulcan words to accompany his sacred compositions and soon the choir was performing at some Baruk Temple rituals. The Yanashites received them with praise, but outside the Community, news commentaries criticized the choir for "humanizing the culture".

One day, the choir was invited to Mount Seleya. Simon traveled with the children and nervously led the group in a private audition before Sorel and Marek, the former High Master of Kolinahr. He fully expected Sorel to issue his own condemnation for "humanizing" the children. Instead, Sorel gave a cool nod of approval and offered Simon a small salary if would create a similar choir at Seleya.

It was just the opportunity Simon had been praying for. Twice a week he traveled alone to Seleya and set to work teaching their children. After finishing for the day, he would wait outside Sorel's office until the leader emerged. There, in front of anyone who might be watching, he would courteously request an audience regarding his suitability for the priesthood.

The first time he did this, Sorel came to a halt and stared at him with some astonishment before moving on. After that, Sorel chose to ignore him completely, but other priests sometimes stopped and showed a kindly interest in Simon. Some were clearly sympathetic to his cause, and those men began questioning among themselves why Sorel was opposed to Spock's son. Two of them took it upon themselves to test Simon's telepathic ability and found that he was capable of initiating a respectable meld. Spock's lessons were having an effect and when the priests offered Simon additional mental training, he gratefully accepted.

After that, he was too busy to wait for Sorel, but one scorching afternoon the leader summoned Simon to his office.

Simon's heart pounded as Sorel opened the door and escorted him inside. There, Simon impulsively dropped to one knee before him.

"No!" Sorel commanded. "I am only a man—do not kneel to me. Do not ever kneel to me again."

Simon obediently rose. Speaking in flawless Vulcan he said, "As you wish, sir. I did not mean to offend you. I knelt only out of respect for your position."

"Respect?" Sorel's dark eyes narrowed. "I rather think you were trying to ingratiate yourself to me."

Though Simon would never have used that word, there was some truth in what Sorel had said. "If so, was that so very wrong?" Simon asked him. "Sir, I still want to become a priest. Please do not oppose me."

Sorel's manner did not soften a bit. "You are very determined to have your own way. Though I commend you for the work you have been doing with the children, your success only proves that music is your true calling."

"It is Yanash who calls me," Simon insisted. "Music is only one of the ways that I show my devotion to him." Brashly he said, "If I had to give up music to become a priest, I would not have a single regret."

"Yanash calls you," Sorel repeated dryly. "If it is Yanash calling, he will be calling you to obedience." Studying Simon's face, he said, "Go back to Baruk and deliver this message to your father. Ask him, do you think that donating land for a temple school entitles your family to special privileges?"

Outrage slowly seared its way through Simon's veins. How dare this arrogant Vulcan stand there and insult his father? This chosen man—this defender of the faith. All Yanashites looked upon him as their spiritual leader. How could he be so vile?

Simon bit down so hard on his tongue that he tasted blood. If he allowed himself even one word, he would be shouting. And he shuddered to think what might happen next. Frightened by the direction of his own thoughts, he turned on his heel and strode out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Spock saw the change in his son and wondered. The heart seemed to have gone out of him. It had been two weeks since Simon last journeyed to Mount Seleya and when Spock asked him about his teaching commitment, Simon merely said, "I'm finished there."

Late one evening, Spock went to close the temple. Due to the threat of vandalism, it had even come to this: locked doors. The main lights in the temple were off, but he could see well enough by the attunement flame that always flickered in the sanctuary. His eyes were drawn to the large icon-portrait of Yanash hanging above the altar. Blood flowing from his wounded hands became streams of water that seemed to drip down upon the titanium safe set in the stone wall below it.

Spock went to his knees before the Sacramental Water reserved in the ornate safe. Though he had not intended to linger, he shifted to a meditation posture and became lost in contemplation of the Shiav who daily came at a priest's bidding and delivered Himself into unworthy hands.

An hour passed before he noticed a faint sound. Thinking that it might be a prowler, he rose, senses alert, and scanned the shadows. The noise came again, like a sigh, from an area in the middle of the temple. Spock peered at the spot and found someone seated there, bent over so that only his dark head was visible.

"Who is there?" Spock's voice reverberated off the stone walls. No answer came.

He walked toward the unresponsive figure, expecting to find one of Baruk's older boys. As he drew near, he realized with a pang that this was no youngster.

"Simon?" he asked, as if he did not already know the answer. He briefly wrestled with the ancient concept of Vulcan privacy, then thrust it aside. "Simon, what is troubling you?"

Simon slowly sat up. Spock was unprepared for the anger flaring from his son's eyes.

Perplexed, Spock asked, "Have I in some manner offended you?"

Simon sighed again and his shoulders slumped. "No, Father. You're not the one."

Spock sat beside him and waited to see if he would continue.

Bitterly, Simon said, "It's Sorel."

A sick feeling stirred in the pit of Spock's stomach. "You've had more words with him?"

Simon nodded and drew in a deep breath. "On my last trip to Seleya." He told Spock how Sorel had called him into his office. Then falling silent, his gaze dropped to the tiled floor. In a thick, halting voice he relayed word for word the message Sorel had given him.

Now the situation became painfully clear to Spock. It was a moment before he could bring himself to ask, "And how did you respond to Sorel's request?"

Simon's frown deepened and Spock expected to hear the worst of scenarios—a human tirade and perhaps even physical violence.

"I wanted to knock him down," Simon admitted.

Spock studied the anguished profile. "And did you?"

Shaking his head, Simon said, "No. I didn't do a thing, I didn't say a single word in your defense. I just turned around and walked out."

Relieved, Spock asked, "Why didn't you tell me this at once?"

Simon's head came up. His eyes were incredulous. "How could I tell you something like that? I was so damn angry…at that pompous ass… _and_ at myself!"

"At yourself?" Spock said. "It is a _good_ thing that you controlled your temper in his presence. But have you tried to analyze why you are so angry at Sorel? With what part of his statement do you disagree? Should I, in fact, expect some special treatment?"

"But Father…" Simon broke off with an impatient noise. "Don't you know an insult when you hear one?"

Spock sat back and spoke in a conciliatory tone. "Simon, if you had come to me I would have told you that Sorel is known for putting candidates to the test. He did no more than state a fact, yet you chose to view it in a negative light. This was meant as a test of your attitude…and you failed, just as you are failing in your commitment to Seleya's choir."

Simon spent the night in the temple, alone with his self-recriminations. Father was right. He had failed miserably before Sorel and before God. If only he had not let his emotions blind him. Now Sorel would never recommend him for the priesthood.

At dawn he rose, stiff and weary, and trudged off to the little room he normally shared with Father Taguma. The Benedictine priest was currently visiting a Catholic family in the capital, so Simon had the place to himself. At the sink, he splashed water on his face and looked in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes stared back at him accusingly. Thinking of the Baruk choir class, he glanced down at the time displayed on his wrist phone. The students would not be expecting him for a few hours. Wiping a towel over his face, he tossed it aside and stumbled into bed.

oooo

Spock was halfway through a mathematics period when the classroom door opened. T'Naisa walked in and quietly asked, "Where's Simon? He hasn't shown up for his choir class."

Nor had Spock seen him at breakfast. A stab of apprehension threatened his composure, but he responded unhurriedly, "Thank you for informing me." Handing her a curriculum padd, he asked, "Can you drill the class in these equations while I tend to the matter?"

Out in the hallway, he turned and walked straight to the faculty wing. He was almost certain of what he would find in Simon's room. Telltale signs of hurried packing, the headlong flight of an emotional young man in the throes of disappointment.

At Simon's door, Spock hesitated, then gave a courteous knock. The silence inside came as no surprise.

Spock opened the door. The windows were shuttered and the room was dark, but light from the hallway spilled over an unmade bed. Spock's sensitive ears picked up a sound of breathing. So Simon had not fled, after all.

"Simon," Spock said, stepping inside. "Simon, wake up…you have overslept."

When there was no response, he activated the lights and walked over to the bed.

Simon moaned, and without opening his eyes, turned a very flushed face away from the lights as if they bothered him. Drawing on his own single experience of intoxication, Spock suspected that his son was drunk. He glanced around the room, expecting to find a smuggled liquor bottle, but there was none in plain view.

Annoyed, Spock stood over his son and spoke his name sharply. When Simon failed to respond, he reached down and grasped him by the shoulder, fully intending to shake him back into the awareness of his shirked responsibilities. Then he felt the burning heat of his son's body and realized that this was no liquor-induced stupor. He summoned the healer immediately.

oooo

For five days Spock only left Simon's side to perform those duties that were absolutely essential, leaving T'Naisa or James in his place. Every night he watched over him in the infirmary, watched and prayed as Simon fought the strange fever that made him thrash and rave every time he neared consciousness. There was no logical reason for such a vigil. Simon was in the care of Sordath, the resident healer. What more could Spock do for him? He had never hovered over James during his sickly years, even when the boy lay dying. Then, Spock had set his will against the specter of death, refusing to acknowledge the possibility. And in the end, Yanash had indeed saved James.

That was before Lauren and Teresa were murdered, before Spock found them lying in a pool of blood on their kitchen floor. Now he knew how swiftly death could come and how powerless he was to prevent it. Yet, if he kept watch over Simon, perhaps…somehow…he could keep his son from slipping away.

It was evening. On the bed, Simon stirred restlessly and cried out, "Mom! Mom!"

Spock's heart ached, for there was no way his mother could answer. If only Lauren was here with them. Aside from the personal considerations, her medical expertize would be useful. She would demand to know why Simon had not been transferred to a hospital. She would be infuriated that there were Vulcan healers who shared Sarek's hostile mindset against Yanashites. How could Spock trust them?

Earlier today, Sordath had established contact with a doctor in Vulcan's outlands, a human who had some experience in treating fever victims of mixed blood. As Spock awaited the doctor's arrival, he clung to his faith. He knew there was a purpose for everything. There was a reason why Yanash had restored James to life when he was five. There was a reason why Yanash had claimed Simon's rebellious heart for his own. Now, if Yanash saw fit to take him—the gifted one, the prodigy—if Simon was meant to join Teresa and their mother…

Resting back in his chair, Spock closed his eyes. _Yanash help us,_ he silently pleaded, _let my son live, let him recover…_

He vividly remembered the moment when Yanash laid his hands upon James and life flowed back into the dead boy's body. He recalled the base emotions it aroused in him—the painful suspicion, the shameful lack of gratitude toward One whose touch, whose mere word, could reorder the scientific laws to which Spock had devoted his career. He had been unwilling to relinquish his godless view of the universe. He had followed Yanash with the sole aim of discrediting him, issuing secret reports that resulted in the Shiav's arrest…and ultimate murder. Spock had come to the truth only after Yanash rose from the dead. Then, every doubt had fallen away, leaving him truly free for the first time in his life. Free to love the One who had first loved him. Free to serve Someone completely worthy of his devotion.

As Spock remembered those days, he seemed to sense Yanash near him. _Let it be as you wish,_ he told the Shiav. _Am I not yours, now and always? Purchased at the price of your own flesh, your own blood?_

Spock felt a touch on his shoulder. Wearily he opened his eyes. T'Naisa stood beside his chair, and James was with her.

Softly she said, "The doctor's here."

Shaking off his fatigue, Spock rose in time to meet the visitor as Sordath brought him through the door. One glimpse of the deeply tanned, handsome doctor sent Spock's blood pressure rising.

A sardonic smile spread over the doctor's face. His blue eyes twinkled as he addressed Spock with a British accent. "Good Lord."

The healer began to introduce him. "This is Doctor Travis Van Allen of…"

"We are acquainted," Spock said tautly. Van Allen may have helped Spock's family on more than one occasion, but he had also done his best to seduce Spock's wife at a time when Lauren was especially vulnerable.

T'Naisa smiled at the doctor. "Travis Van Allen. I've heard of your medical exploits. You have quite a reputation."

"Indeed," Spock said dryly.

Van Allen focused his attention on T'Naisa and bowed slightly from the waist. "And what, lovely lady, might your name be?"

"T'Naisa S'chn T'gai," she said, blushing like a child.

Van Allen cooled. "I see. The new wife." He regarded Spock with thinly veiled contempt. "I heard about Lauren. She deserved a better end. You remarried, what? Barely a year later? Best not to dwell on grief, eh? That would be most illogical."

Spock was working to control his temper when T'Naisa spoke up.

"Oh," she said in rush, "but we aren't _really_ married. It's just a legal arrangement."

The doctor visibly relaxed. He looked at T'Naisa with renewed interest.

Stiffly Spock said, "T'Naisa, it is James' bedtime. Will you kindly see him to his room?"

At the strange request, T'Naisa turned and briefly searched Spock's face. Sensing his displeasure, she took James with her and left.

Spock watched Doctor Van Allen examine Simon and suggest an herbal regimen from the old Vulcan traditions, along with some other unorthodox treatments. On Sordath's recommendation, Spock reluctantly agreed to it. At this point, he saw no other choice. Simon was not responding to more conventional treatments.

Later, Spock encountered T'Naisa outside the infirmary and unleashed his anger on her. "Why did you say to Van Allen that we aren't really married?"

She seemed stunned. "Why do you care? It's the truth. I didn't like the way he talked to you, as if you had no feelings for Lauren. I didn't even like the way he _looked_ at you."

Spock fell silent. He remembered, all too well, the way Van Allen had looked at T'Naisa. Though he did not approve of it, he could not bring himself to tell her.

oooo

It seemed to Simon that he had been sleeping for a very long time when a strange, discordant sound insinuated itself upon his consciousness. He shifted position. The noise rose and fell, pummeling him in persistent, irritating waves. A whimper escaped him. He did not want to awaken. The darkness had been so sweet and calm.

"Simon!" said a vaguely familiar voice. A masculine voice.

Others spoke, but he could not quite catch the words. So many words and other strange sounds, keening like a flock of hungry seagulls on a California beach.

With an effort he raised his hands and used them to cover his ears. "Stop," he gasped, "stop the noise!"

The man said some words and the racket ended. Simon sighed in relief. He let his hands fall limply on the bed. Once more the darkness called to him and he felt himself sliding toward it when something cool and damp touched his face.

"Simon," another man spoke, "Simon. Son, wake up. Look at me."

A strong arm slipped around his shoulders and Simon felt his head gently raised off the pillow. Comforted by the touch, he slowly cracked open his eyes and in the dim light, he looked upon his father's face.

oooo

There was joy at Baruk. The students and faculty offered prayers of thanksgiving. Simon had stood on the very brink of death, but now the brain fever had left him. He would recover.

Spock was walking along a breezeway with his recuperating son when he first became aware that all was not well with Simon. The boy's step was slow and he tired easily; that was only to be expected after such a serious illness. They reached a bench. As Simon sank down to rest, a haunting strain of music drifted from a school window.

Simon grimaced. "Oh…that sounds awful!"

"Awful?" Spock's eyebrow climbed. He gazed down at his son curiously, thinking that perhaps Simon had heard some small imperfection in the recording. The continuing look of pain on Simon's face brought a twinge of apprehension. "What is it…precisely…that you hear?"

Simon groaned. Rubbing at his temples he said, "Can't _you_ hear it? That squeaking and squawking…like a cage full of quarrelling birds. I've been hearing it every so often since the day I woke up."

Spock listened to the pure notes of Vulcan woodwinds. He remembered that music had been playing in the infirmary when Simon came out of his delirium.

Quietly he said, "Simon, come with me."

oooo

The healer's examination began with Simon's ears and then focused on his brain function. Spock stood watching in the school infirmary as Sordath conducted diagnostic scans with and without musical input. At last the elderly healer switched off his handheld instrument and silenced the music.

On the examination table, Simon rose to a sitting position. "Well?" he asked hopefully.

"The scans reveal a functional abnormality," Sordath replied with some reluctance. "Due to an internal misalignment, your brain has lost the ability to process melodic sequences of sound. I am sorry."

Simon's humanlike brows drew together. Slowly his head bowed.

Spock cleared a gathering thickness from his throat. "Sir…what then can be done?"

"You might wish to consult a neurologist," answered the healer. "In the past I would have referred the case myself, but as a Yanashite I no longer have any professional standing among my medical colleagues. Doctor Van Allen can provide a referral." He turned to Simon, his dark eyes compassionate. "Young man, the brain still holds many mysteries. It may be that, in time, the lost function will regenerate. I will prescribe helpful supplements and pray for a favorable outcome."

Wordlessly Simon nodded and left the infirmary.

Spock remained with the healer. Carefully containing his emotions, he said, "I am not sure I want Van Allen involved. His unorthodox regimen—could it have caused this?"

Sordath gave him a searching look. "Sir, it was Doctor Van Allen's regimen that likely saved your son's life."

oooo

The time for tears was over. Alone in his room, Simon cradled his violin and remembered the child prodigy who had once performed on Earth to standing ovations. The music that had been the focus of his young life was now as strange as a foreign language—a language he might never relearn. Before visiting the neurologist, he had entertained some hope, but her blunt diagnosis had shaken him to the core. There was no treatment available for his rare condition.

Even so, he refused to despair. In the midst of his anguish, he found himself clinging all the more tightly to God. Had he not said that he would give up his music in order to serve Yanash as a priest? But with Sorel opposing him, it now seemed that he had lost both his music and his dream of the priesthood.

Simon's thoughts turned to his father and all the setbacks he had suffered in his life. Even before Spock came to know Yanash, he had always forged ahead, no matter how dark and uncertain the future appeared. Now, as never before, Simon could appreciate his courage. He could appreciate how good a father Spock had been, rising above personal difficulties to parent a temperamental son.

Simon lingered in his boyhood memories. He was five when his parents took him hiking along Fish Canyon Narrows, a scenic trail outside Los Angeles. He remembered his sense of wonder as they entered a narrow mountain cleft; how overpowered he had felt by the sheer rock walls that swallowed all but a sliver of blue sky; how enchanted by the stream of crystalline water that bubbled along as they carefully stepped from rock to rock. When the time came, he had not wanted to go home. The place had so captivated his heart and his imagination that years later it inspired one of his best musical compositions.

Fish Canyon reminded him of Yanash—the Anchor of Stone, the Water of Life. Beneath Simon's pain, a life-giving stream was flowing onward, carrying him to an unknown destination. No matter what the future held, he could trust himself to the Shiav.

oooo

Spock did not know what to say to his son, for his heart was weighed down with the enormity of Simon's loss. Day after day he wrestled with dark emotions. Why had God given Simon such superb musical talent, only to strip it away? There was no detectible logic in it. Prejudice had barred his son from Vulcan's finest medical facilities, but Spock remembered well that Yanash had no need for hospitals and healers. A word from the Shiav had returned Simon's brother from the dead. A single word could heal Simon's brain.

Spock spent many a free hour in the temple complaining to the only One who could help his son. He was there alone one evening when T'Naisa came and sat by his side.

Several minutes passed before she quietly said, "Spock. Simon's life was spared for a reason. If God has taken away his music, it must be for a greater good."

Spock shook his head. "A greater good? Simon's future held such promise. What is left for him now?"

"Oh, Spock." T'Naisa's voice was sad. "You've looked at Simon as a prodigy for so long, that's all that you can see. _Think,"_ she urged, "think back, before you put the first violin into his hands. Who was he then? Simon has always been something more than his music. You should be proud of the way he's adjusting."

In Spock's troubled state of mind, he found her words rather annoying, but in the days ahead they remained with him. Little by little Simon was recovering his physical strength. Though he could no longer teach music, he kept himself busy performing mundane tasks around the complex. If he sometimes wished for something more, he kept those thoughts strictly to himself.

More and more, Spock came to acknowledge the wisdom of T'Naisa's words. There _was_ more to Simon than his music. Spock was casting about for some way to make better use of his son at Baruk when an idea came to him. At first glance it seemed rather foolish, but the thought of a Vulcan choir had also seemed foolish in the beginning. Children everywhere were open to new challenges, and a challenge would certainly be beneficial for Simon.

After consulting with Sparn, Spock tapped into the school budget and sent to Earth for the materials they would need.

oooo

Simon was not surprised when the summons came. He had noticed how reserved Father had become when they were together, how reluctant to speak the painful truth that was in his heart.

Simon guessed what was coming, and he did not blame anyone. He was no longer of any real use here. With his childhood earnings as a musician secured in a trust, he could contribute very little credits toward his own upkeep. He was a drain on Baruk's meager resources and should have voluntarily returned to Earth before now. T'Beth dearly wanted him to come stay with her while he decided what to do with his life.

All this Simon knew, yet his heart pounded as he entered the administrator's office. Stepping carefully around some large boxes, he came to stand before his father's desk. Spock looked up at him and Simon felt his control start to slip. He did not want to leave Baruk. Swallowing hard, he refused the hot tears that pricked the back of his eyes.

"Simon," Father said with a telling hesitance.

Simon nodded and stood stiffly, waiting. _Say it quickly,_ came the inward plea. _Say it quickly and get this over._

Smiling slightly, Father said in a kind voice, "Sit down."

Simon lowered himself onto a box and wrapped his arms around his long legs.

Father leaned back in his chair and seemed to search for the right words. At last he spoke. "There is something I have been wanting to tell you. All those years when you excelled at playing the violin, I was very proud of your accomplishments…but I am more proud of you now, seeing how well you have handled adversity."

The tears broke free and flooded Simon's eyes. He dashed them away with the back of his hand. He had not wanted to cry in front of his father. Embarrassed, he hung his head, awaiting the pronouncement that would send him away.

He heard his father shift position. "Even so," Spock continued, "I have been concerned about you. It has troubled me that your talents are no longer being put to use."

Startled, Simon looked up. "What do you mean? I no longer have any talent."

Father's eyebrow quirked upward. "I disagree. And I hope you will not think me presumptuous if I have acted on that belief without first consulting you."

"I…I don't understand."

Father rose, and coming over to the boxes, began to open them. Simon got out of the way. One by one the lids came off, revealing what was contained inside. Gleaming white baseballs, shiny new bats, mitts of every kind, and a full range of safety equipment; everything a former Little League hotshot could ever desire.

Simon stared at the bounty in amazement.

Father had completed the unveiling and stood watching him intently, head tipped to one side. "Well," he asked, "did I get it right?"

Simon broke into a grin. He had almost forgotten how good it felt to smile. With his head brimming full of plans, he was on the verge of laughter when a dark memory quashed the moment of joy.

"What is it?" Spock asked.

"Oh, Father…" His heart pounding, Simon sank into a chair near the desk.

Mistaking Simon's behavior for a medical problem, Spock started for the intercom. "I will summon the healer."

"No," Simon quickly said. "There's just something…something I need to tell you…and when you hear what I have to say, you might send me packing, after all."

Concern evident on his face, Father returned to his desk chair. "Very well, then."

For two long years Simon had struggled to keep the happenings at a fateful ballgame to himself, but suddenly he could no longer bear the burden. In a voice thick with emotion, he said, "It's about Sobek."

Father's demeanor changed, as Simon knew it would. The young Vulcan who murdered Teresa and Lauren was a painful subject. The fact that Sobek then took his own life only added to the tragedy. But there was more to the story, and only one way to disclose it. Quickly and fully.

Taking a deep breath, Simon said, "The night I took Sobek to Yankee Stadium, some of those CUE bigots were sitting nearby. Midway through the seventh inning, three of them went after Sobek—taunting him, pushing him around. Sobek started to fight back, but I…I didn't do a damn thing." His throat ached from shame and unshed tears. "I was afraid of hurting my precious hands, so I just stood there while those drunken thugs attacked him. If the ballpark security hadn't shown up…"

Spock spread his fingers on the desktop and stared at them. "That…occurred in September of the fateful year. And then Sobek stopped coming around."

"Until his father died and he had nowhere to go." Simon's hands clenched into fists. "I made him hate us. It was because of me. No wonder the Shiav took away my music."

They sat in silence for a time.

Then, incredibly, Spock said, "As I recall, I upgraded your seats at the stadium. If you had watched the game from a different area of the ballpark…perhaps…"

Simon leapt to his feet. "No! You can't blame _yourself!"_

Raising impossibly calm eyes to him, Spock quirked a brow and said, "Exactly. You are right. It was _not_ my fault…and neither was it yours. Anyone would feel intimidated in the situation you describe…and what violinist would want to risk injuring his hands? Sobek's reaction to the incident suggests that he was more drawn to our family than to the Shiav, or he would not have lost his faith so easily. Early on, I had discerned in him a certain…shall I say…infatuation with me? But none of us are perfect. Sooner or later we would have disappointed Sobek in some other manner."

Abruptly he ended the conversation and stood. "Simon, as your mother wished, you were raised in the human way, but I can teach you some Vulcan combat techniques that use only one's feet."

Simon sighed. "It doesn't much matter if I hurt my hands now, does it?"

Coming around the desk, Spock revealed, "Hands are of great importance in the Vulcan culture. That, too, I can show you."

Simon's smile slowly returned and he said, "Alright, thanks." It was strange looking down on his father, even though the difference was quite minimal. But somehow Spock still seemed ten feet tall.

Reaching out, Father laid a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder and said, "First let us go out and decide where our fledgling athletes will play."

oooo

On Earth, the primitive playing field would have been called a "sand lot", but for now it would do well enough. Simon scheduled practice during the early hours, when the day's heat was less intense. Once again, it was James who helped him capture the children's interest. Soon, boys and girls were gladly rising early for a chance to participate in the fascinating new activity. Like all Vulcans, they were fast, dedicated learners. It did not take long for Simon to realize that the sport program would be a success.

Good solid teams formed, and the day came when the first competitive game was scheduled. Spock had issued invitations to Mount Seleya, and several members of that community were in attendance, including Sorel.

The children played well. Afterward, Sorel approached Simon to congratulate him on his coaching.

"It can only be beneficial," the Vulcan said, "to broaden their education in this manner. It is unfortunate that there is no space for such a program at Seleya. Though a Vulcan has taken charge of the choir, the children there still speak fondly of you."

Simon's face reddened with embarrassment. "Sir, I still owe you an apology for neglecting my commitment to the choir before I fell ill. I reacted to your words in a prideful manner." Swallowing hard, he said, "I will no longer trouble you about the priesthood. I can barely even chant in my present state. It is rather difficult, for music is all I have ever known."

"And baseball?" Sorel's slim eyebrow lifted.

Simon shrugged. "An enjoyable pastime. I like working with the children." A sudden idea came to him. "Sir, there _is_ another sport that would be suitable for the limited space on Mount Seleya. Maybe you have heard of it. And he spoke the Vulcan words for 'basket' and 'ball'— _ki'haf-dukal."_

"Indeed?" Sorel seemed interested. "Come. Let us go sit in the shade and discuss this…ki'haf-dukal."

Sorel led Simon to a bench and listened intently as he described the energetic game. When Simon finished, Sorel agreed that a basketball program might benefit the Seleya students, who had little room for physical activity.

Then, unexpectedly, Sorel said, "It seems that you are adjusting well to your affliction. Some in your situation would be casting blame on God."

Simon carefully considered his response. "I have been learning to turn to Yanash first and always, to depend on him for everything. After all, it was God who gave me musical ability. I do not know why he chose to do that, but I am grateful that I had it for a time. Now that he has permitted its loss, I still trust him. I know there is a reason for everything, whether or not I understand it."

There was a moment of companionable silence.

Simon rose. "Well, sir, I do not want to take up any more of your time. May I have your blessing?"

When Sorel stood, Simon bowed his head and received the brief, prayerful touch. And there was peace in his soul.

oooo

The weeks passed quietly at Baruk and little by little the season began to turn. Hot winds gusted, stirring up the reddish Vulcan sand, and for a time baseball became impractical. All through the school, windows were shuttered tight against the scouring blasts of grit. As much as possible, everyone stayed indoors.

Late one afternoon, when the day's classes were over, Spock returned to the school office and found a Yanashite courier waiting to sign over a packet. The process was not unusual, in view of the situation on Vulcan. In the past their computer's security system had been breached by unfriendly Traditionalists. For the purpose of confidentiality, certain communications were kept strictly on paper, then destroyed.

Even so, Spock felt uneasy as he put his signature to the confirmation slip. Although it was not logical, he seemed to sense that the contents of the packet would bring about some deep and lasting change. Over the years this human part of him, with its strange stirrings of intuition, had been growing stronger.

The courier departed.

Alone, Spock studied the thick, cream-colored envelope in his hands. It bore no outer markings whatsoever. That, too, was not unusual.

Gathering himself, he broke open the adhesive seal and pulled out a second, smaller envelope and a paper that bore Sorel's handwritten Vulcan script. The paper was addressed to him.

 **To Spock, my brother in the faith:**

 **Recently I sent a letter to the Vocation Committee recommending your son, S'chn T'gai Simon Spock, for the priesthood. I am pleased to inform you that the committee has unanimously approved his candidacy. Should Simon decide to pursue this opportunity, a place has been reserved for him. I ask you to present him with the enclosed envelope, which contains all the information he will need.**

 **Your servant,**

 **Sorel**

The words began to jump over the page and Spock realized that his hands were trembling. And he thought, _Yanash forgive me…forgive the nagging anger and doubt that had never quite, until this moment, subsided._ Unlike Simon and T'Naisa, he had not trusted fully. He had seen only the bitter loss of Simon's musical ability.

To everything there was a purpose. The pain, the sacrifice—had it been, after all, for this? A greater good?

Wind buffeted the shuttered window as Spock went to the desktop intercom and called for his son.

oooOOooo


End file.
